


Dark Light

by cass_e



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Azriel is Bad at Feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, Culture Shock, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Found Family, Happy Ending, Horcruxes, Kidnapping, Masturbation, Mates, Mating Bond, Non-Consensual Bondage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-ACOSF, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Tension, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cass_e/pseuds/cass_e
Summary: ~Next update: March 19 @ 8 PM (EST)~For months now, you've been dreaming about a hazel-eyed male with bat wings. A male who wears black leather armor with seven blue stones. A male who looks like he can kill you in a thousand slow ways. You shouldn't be attracted to such a violent figment of your imagination, but you are.And you need him to be real.So one night, even though it's childish, you make a wish. You don't think it'll work, but once you close your eyes, something pulls taut in your chest. You hear someone pluck a harp string, and then the world turns upside down. When you wake up in a garden in the back of a fairy tale mansion, the last person you expect to see is the male you've been dreaming about.He goes by the name Azriel.~WATTPAD VERSION~
Relationships: Azriel (ACoTaR)/Reader
Comments: 33
Kudos: 85





	1. Through Space and Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Reader cuts herself with a knife by accident. No injury description. Just blood.
> 
> Why hello there! This is a fic I've been thinking about for a while now. For sanity's sake, I'm gonna try to keep the chapters to ~2,000 words each. And I'll be updating it once a week, so... Yeah! Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> [And here’s my pinterest board for this fic](https://www.pinterest.com/amchapel777/dark-light/)!

Eigengrau, also called Eigenlicht, dark light, or brain gray, is the uniform dark gray background that many people report seeing in the absence of light.

— From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"What the hell is she wearing?"

_Whack!_

"She's still sleeping, Cassian. Lower your voice."

Slowly, carefully, you shifted through several layers of consciousness.

Another female voice said, "Let's use our words, Nesta."

"I did."

"Yeah, _after_ you hit me."

Even though you were still waking up, you snorted. The talk around you died down as your mouth twitched. You were about to laugh, but when you inhaled, you felt . . . blades of grass against your lips.

"What the . . ?" You opened your eyes. When you realized you were prone on the ground, you furrowed your brow, confused. "Uh . . ."

Pushing yourself up, you groaned softly.

The warm grass under your palms made the back of your neck prickle. The sun must've been out, must've been beating down on you for a while now.

A balmy, foreign breeze kissed your cheek as you sat on your side, rubbing your eyes. And when you could finally see past the phosphenes, you saw three people standing in front of you.

The first thing you noticed was the male's bat-like wings.

And the second? The females' pointed ears.

Your stomach dropped as you moved to your knees and then stood, narrowing your eyes.

"Who are you?" you asked, hands shaking as you raised them.

You were, at the very least, comforted by the weather. Because it was bright and sunny, you could use as much light as you needed to defend yourself.

"Please, relax," the female in front said. She raised her paint-smeared hands to let you know that she was harmless, but you knew she wasn't.

"Nice gesture," you said, glancing over your shoulder. Just more garden. _Fuck._ "But I can sense your powers. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying," the same female said, pleading with her eyes. "Please, we're just as confused as you are."

The male gave the other female a sidelong look.

You turned your attention to her. "So _you_ did this? _You_ brought me here?"

"I didn't do anything," she said, grabbing her face. "Cassian, if you could control your facial expressions for, like, five seconds, that'd be great."

The female in front shushed her friends and then smiled apologetically. "Sorry about them. We're all just . . . confused. About what happened."

You backed up. "So am I. This doesn't feel like a dream."

"That's because it's not," the same female said, wringing her hands. "Please, let us explain what we think might've happened. My name's Feyre. What's yours?"

You glanced down at your pajamas, debating whether or not your nightgown was appropriate for fighting.

"You said you sensed my powers," Feyre said tentatively, trying to regain your attention. "Do you have some of your own?"

Everyone, you realized, was eyeing your raised hands.

You swallowed thickly, looking down at them. You didn't want to lie to them because they seemed like kind people, but you shook your head no.

Just because they _seemed_ kind didn't mean they actually were.

"Well, I can . . . _sense_ powers," you said lamely, lowering your hands. "That's my power."

"Ah, okay," Feyre said, smiling. "Why don't you follow me? I can serve you tea while we speak . . ."

You realized she was waiting for your name. You pursed your lips but eventually said, "(Y/n). My name's (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

"Lovely," Feyre said, wiping her hands on her smock. "Please follow me, (Y/n)." She turned to her friends. "Cassian, Nesta. I already told Rhys what happened. He's winnowing home as we speak. I just need you two to check on the . . . instrument."

You approached them, Cassian watching you like a hawk.

And then something clicked.

"Oh, the harp?" you asked, fixing your hair. "I heard it, but it was only one note. A bit strange, if you ask me." When you glanced up, you did a double-take. "What? What did I say?"

Before Feyre could respond, Nesta said, "It's complicated, but we'll explain what probably happened."

You glanced around the garden as Feyre gestured for you to follow them toward the mansion.

Everything was so vibrant and lush, teeming with life, that you decided you were still dreaming. You wanted to believe what Feyre had said, that this wasn't a dream, but there was no way in hell you'd just fallen into another dimension.

Another _world._

Another reality that had males with bat wings, just like the one you'd dreamed about.

When you neared the back of the mansion, you caught Cassian staring at you again.

"I'm harmless," you said, showing him your palms. "I don't want any trouble. I just want to go home."

Nesta placed a hand on his shoulder before he could respond. "Ignore him," she said. "He's what you may consider a guard dog."

You fought a grin, but it must've shown in your eyes because Cassian smirked.

"It's my _job,"_ he murmured, nudging Nesta with a hip. "But yeah, don't take it personally."

"This way," Feyre said, walking through a narrow stone path. Roses curved over everyone's head; sunlight peeked through. "We'll have tea in the back while Cassian and Nesta get the harp."

"We?" you echoed, studying the flowers. "Including the person you mentioned before?"

"Yes, but don't worry," Feyre said. "He's my mate, my husband, Rhysand."

You hummed as you walked into a large, spacious area of blue-green grass. To your left, two staircases mirrored each other, leading up to the mansion. Before heading inside, Cassian and Nesta walked around a small table and three chairs.

One of them was currently occupied by Rhysand, a pointed-eared male.

You raised a brow and then hesitated . . . because his aura was _dark._

Even though dark auras were usually no cause for concern, something about his was ancient and dangerous. He practically oozed barely-contained violence.

Rhysand narrowed his purple eyes as he scanned your face.

"It's okay," Feyre said, gesturing for you to follow her. "Rhysand doesn't bite."

A bad taste settled in the back of your throat, but you forced yourself to relax for appearance's sake. "Is he protective? Like the other one?"

"Yes, just protective," Feyre said, pulling out a chair. "Please, sit. You said you're harmless, right? Well, so are we."

Every step toward the table was strained, but you got there.

As you sat, you said, "I wouldn't call Rhysand harmless, per se . . ." You trailed off, holding his gaze. "This may come off as rude, but . . . whatever your power is doesn't feel very safe to me. At least, not right now. I'm alone and confused, so I'm sure you can understand the kind of . . . _stress_ I'm under."

The corners of Rhysand's mouth quirked up.

"She can sense powers," Feyre explained, sitting to your right. "(Y/n), this is Rhysand. Rhysand, (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

"It's nice to meet you," he said.

Because you weren't an impolite person, you stuck out your right hand. Sure, you may've been dreaming, but you figured it didn't hurt to be well-mannered.

But Rhysand flinched and threw an arm over Feyre.

"Rhysand," she seethed, laughing nervously, "it's a handshake."

The back of your neck prickled with embarrassment.

Rhysand cleared his throat. "Right." He fixed his plain black dress shirt before shaking your hand. "You'll have to forgive me for being on edge, (Y/n). We're not exactly sure why you were brought here."

When you released his hand, you said, "Don't worry. It's natural to be afraid of the unknown. That's how it works for us humans, so I assume it's the same with you elves."

Rhysand raised a brow. "Elves?"

Feyre blinked. "You call yourself human?"

"Uh . . ." You trailed off. "Are you _not_ elves?"

"We're fae," Feyre clarified, gesturing to herself and her mate. "Are you not a witch?"

You were so surprised by the question that you burst out laughing. Clearing your throat, you finally said, "No. No, I'm not a witch. I'm very much human."

Feyre narrowed her blue-gray eyes in confusion. "But you're . . . You have a power."

You nodded. "Yes. Well, where I'm from, humans are born with powers. Not a lot of us, but a decent amount." You pursed your lips, letting your gaze wander. "I don't know why I'm explaining this, really. I know you said this wasn't a dream, but I'm sure I'll wake up soon. My alarm's bound to go off at any second."

Feyre and Rhysand exchanged a look that told you otherwise.

"This just— It _can't_ be real," you said, crossing your legs. You leaned back in your chair, staring up at the thick white clouds and summer-blue sky. "I wish it were. This place is beautiful . . . Maybe I can come back. Another night, of course."

Rhysand hummed thoughtfully. "Do you really think you're dreaming? Feyre told me you heard a harp before you . . . _got_ here."

You scrunched your nose in puzzlement. "Feyre told you?" You looked back down so you could gauge their reactions. "When?"

Feyre was about to answer when Rhysand cut in.

"Because we're mates, we share an unusual bond," he explained, splaying his hands.

You grinned slowly, incredulous. "You may not be lying, Rhysand, but you're withholding information from me, a guest in your home."

Rhysand looked you over, something cruel sparking like flint in his aura. "A _stranger_ in my home."

The conversation was interrupted by Cassian and Nesta returning with a glistening, silver harp; it couldn't have been bigger than her torso. You knew you should've been focusing on the harp, but something on Cassian's leather armor had snagged your attention.

Feyre asked, "Do you recognize something? On Cassian?"

You shook your head, tearing your gaze away from him. "No. Well—" You wrung your hands in your lap, looking around the table. "It's just . . . I've had these dreams lately."

Nesta sat to your left, still holding the harp. "About Cassian?" The male in question sat to your right.

"No," you said hurriedly. "But I do have dreams about someone similar-looking, bat wings and all. His stones, though, are blue. Very beautiful. And there're seven of them, which I think is ironic." You smiled to yourself and then added, for clarification, "Seven's my lucky number, you see."

When you looked up, your heart sank. "What? Is something wrong?" Everyone was looking at you like you'd just said something world-shattering. "Hello? Anyone?"

Rhysand was the first to speak. "Well, at least we know why you think you're dreaming now. I would too if I were you."

"This _is_ a dream," you insisted. "And I know you're all keeping something from me. I'm not blind. And it's stupid because this _is_ a dream. I'm in a dream right now, and I can prove it."

You slapped a hand against the table, grabbing a silver knife. Holding it against your palm, you sliced down. "See—?"

The pain hit you a second later, stealing your breath away. "Mother _fucker!"_

Your right hand spasmed. The knife fell out, clattering against a violet saucer. You stared at your left palm as if were the strangest thing in the world. Blood welled from the shallow cut, staining the white tablecloth.

Your heart started racing.

Because this _wasn't_ a dream.

This was real.

Feyre stood. "Here, (Y/n). Let's get you cleaned up—"

"No," you whispered, rushing to your feet.

Everyone stood as you staggered back, glancing around the garden.

"There's no way out," Rhysand said, clutching at his face.

He looked like you were boring him.

_Prick._

"Don't phrase it like that," Feyre snapped, elbowing him. "You'll scare her away." She turned to face you again, walking around the table. "Please, (Y/n). All we want to do is talk. Then we might be able to send you back home."

 _"Might?"_ you echoed, still backing up. "What do you mean? Am I stuck here? Indefinitely?"

Everyone glanced at one another, uncertain.

You thought you blacked out for a moment. Because you had a life where you were from. You had friends, you had a family. Sure, it wasn't the best of lives, but you hadn't been prepared to leave. You hadn't even gotten a chance to say goodbye. And now you were stuck in some fucked up fairy tale world.

"Just sit down," Nesta said, irritated. "We don't plan on hurting you."

"Yeah," Cassian added, red stones glinting in the sun. Or maybe they were glowing on their own? "We're just as freaked out as you are. Honest to gods."

You were thinking about using your power to get the fuck out of here when darkness formed behind Rhysand. You watched, feeling the blood drain from your face.

A male stepped out before the black gap in the world closed up behind him. Your breath hitched as you took him in because he was, without a doubt, the male from your dreams. He stood tall, built like Cassian, but was the leaner of the two. And in the sun, his tan face shone, slick with sweat. His eyes appeared amber, shining bright.

As he sheathed his weapons, you took note of his heavily scarred hands.

"Ah, Azriel," Rhysand said, gesturing to the new male. "Perfect timing."

When you and Azriel locked eyes, his blue stones, all seven of them, flared.

Your toes curled in the grass.

He pushed his black hair back, gawking. You figured it wasn't a regular occurrence because the others, even Rhysand, looked unsettled by his surprise.

"What?" Cassian asked, approaching him. He waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Azriel?"

Azriel mumbled something, gaze wandering shamelessly. It felt like your heart was breaking in the best way possible, but you hugged yourself, glaring at him.

"What?" you asked, lowering your voice. "Has anyone ever told you that staring is rude?"

Finally, Azriel spoke, but it was to Rhysand. "Please, I don't know what to do . . . What's going on?"

Rhysand's brows shot up as he stared at Azriel, processing something.

You were about to repeat Azriel's question when Rhysand said, turning to you, "It would appear that the harp has brought you your mate, Azriel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: March 10 @ 9 PM (EST)
> 
> Hope you liked it! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 🥰🙏
> 
> [I'm also on Tumblr](https://amchapel.tumblr.com/)!


	2. A Girl and Her Backpack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue your conversation in Rhysand's study when Amren shows up, bearing a gift. And then Elain is brought up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said the next update was March 10, but I couldn't help myself!
> 
> Enjoy! <3

As everyone processed Rhysand's words, you dropped your gaze.

For the third or fourth time since you'd woken up, you thought about running away, but you knew it wouldn't solve anything. So like the mature young adult you were, you decided to stay, to work things out . . . _Hopefully._

"No offense," you said, "but I barely know him. And I'm not even from this — world? Whatever you call this place." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "This doesn't make any sense."

"We're just as surprised as you are," Cassian said, hitting Azriel good-naturedly. "She's your _mate,_ Azriel. This is awesome."

You scoffed and raised an unimpressed brow. "Yeah. The jury's still out on that."

Everyone looked at you like you'd just casted a spell.

And then something clicked.

"Oh, that—" You cleared your throat, a bit embarrassed. "That's a saying where I'm from. It means . . . Never mind. Forget it."

Feyre cocked her head to the side. "It means never mind and forget it?"

You shook your head, fighting a smile. "No, I just— I'll explain it later."

"Let's talk inside," Rhysand said, gesturing for you to follow him. "I don't want to make a scene."

You looked around. "But we're—"

"The wind whispers," Rhysand said, dead serious. "Come on."

You glanced up at the open sky, the roof, before finally agreeing to go inside. You trailed at the back of the group, Azriel and Cassian in the front. You kept glancing over everyone's shoulders to get a good look at him again — your mate, that is.

The word was so strange, so different, that it didn't sit right with you. But it didn't feel entirely horrible either?

You shook your head to yourself as everyone started upstairs.

"You okay?" Feyre asked, lingering on the stairs for you. "Do you want something else to wear? I guess I should've asked you that first. I'm sorry."

You glanced down at your nightgown. "Um, sure. If you have something that'll fit me."

Feyre waved a hand as you caught up to her. "Don't worry about things fitting or not. Alterations are hassle-free with a little magic."

You nodded. "Right. Of course."

Feyre smiled at your sarcasm, leading you through a marble patio.

Everyone entered someone's study or office through a pair of glass doors. There were enough settees for everyone, but Azriel and Cassian stood by the doorway on the other side of the room. They'd tucked their wings in, mindful of the books and expensive-looking furniture.

As you sat on one of the settees facing the backyard, Rhysand snapped his fingers. A dark blue babydoll dress appeared out of thin air. It was a bit sheer, but you figured you could just wear it over your nightgown.

When Feyre handed it to you, you muttered your thanks and threw it on. As you got comfortable again, Rhysand sat behind the desk. Feyre sat on it, facing you.

"So," Nesta said, sitting across from you, "where do we start? Should I try sending her back?"

 _"No,"_ everyone said at once.

Well, everyone except for you. You weren't sure what to say, so you kept quiet.

"Why not?" Nesta asked, twisting to look back at Rhysand and Feyre. "She said she wants to go home."

"Well, for starters," Rhysand said, clasping his hands, "we don't even know what string was plucked."

"And we can't just go through the strings. At least, not with _this_ harp," Feyre explained. And then she turned to you, furrowing her brow. "If we play you some notes on a piano or something, would you be able to tell us which one you heard?"

"Oh, sure," you said, waving a hand. "But I'm confused . . . You said you don't know which string was plucked. How is that even possible? Did it play itself?"

Rhysand sighed. "Yes. Apparently."

Something twinged in your chest. When you glanced back at Azriel, you realized he was already staring at you. You swallowed, at a loss for words.

"If she's stuck here for a while, she should talk to Elain," Nesta said, throwing up a hand. "She's an expert at this sort of stuff."

Your skin broke out in gooseflesh as you turned back around. "Who's Elain? And what is she an expert at exactly?"

"She's our sister," Feyre said, gesturing to herself and Nesta. "She was . . . When she found out who her mate was, it was all very sudden."

"Oh," you said, blinking. "Is Elain . . . Are they happy now?"

You just barely caught Rhysand's gaze as it flickered to Azriel. You turned to face the male again, but this time, he wasn't focused on you. Shadows lurked behind his shoulders; tendrils of darkness whispered up the sides of his neck. He stared off into space.

You pressed a hand to your chest as something ached.

"They are," Feyre said, raising her voice. You could tell she was trying to regain your attention. "(Y/n)?"

You rubbed your chest. Turning back to Feyre, you muttered, "Something . . . hurts."

Feyre pursed her lips as she looked down at Rhysand. The male put a hand on her thigh. He looked like he was about to say something when someone knocked on the doorway by Azriel and Cassian.

"I'm here, Rhysand," a female said, voice dripping with disdain. "I was in the middle of something with Varian, so this better be—" She stopped when she noticed you sitting on one of the settees.

You scanned her feline features and small frame before realizing what she was holding.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, standing. "My backpack? But how—?"

 _"This_ was on the front lawn." The female stuck your backpack out like it was trash. "It reeks of something unknown. I don't like it." As you took it from her, she added, "And you smell the same. Rhysand, who the hell is this?"

You returned to your seat, clutching at your backpack.

"Amren, this is (Y/n) (Y/l/n)," Rhysand said, gesturing between the two of you. "(Y/n), Amren. My right hand." The fae paused, narrowing his eyes at your backpack. "What's . . . in there? If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, it's just my backpack from college," you said, unzipping it. "I fell asleep with it on my bed because I was doing homework . . . Which means . . ." You trailed off, rifling around.

When your fingers touched a familiar object, you grinned.

Pulling it out, you said, "This is my phone."

When you flipped it to face Rhysand, the screen lit up. It terrified everyone, even Nesta, who held the harp closer to her body.

"What the fuck is _that?"_ Cassian crossed the room in long strides. As he bent over at the waist, peering at your screen, his wings rustled. "It's not some sort of weapon, right?"

You couldn't help but giggle, shaking your head. "No, it's what we humans call _cell phones."_ You spelled it out before adding, "We use this to call and message each other. And a bunch of other things. But I doubt it works here because there's no service. Unless . . . Do you guys have landlines?"

Amren held up a hand, thoroughly affronted. "Rhysand, did you _willingly_ invite a witch into your home?"

You stood, swiping your lock screen to the left. "I promise it's harmless. It's just technology. Well, unless you think blue light _isn't_ harmless, which, well, some people do." You shrugged, holding it up. "Look, it can take pictures."

You held up a peace sign as you snapped a photo of you, Cassian, Nesta, Amren, Feyre, and Rhysand. You opened the image, showing it to Cassian because he was closest. His jaw dropped as he snatched your phone away.

"It's us!" he cried out, shoving the phone into Nesta's face. "Look!"

Nesta smiled as she pushed Cassian's hand away. "That's lovely, dear. Now get that dark magic away from me."

"She's a witch," Amren said, stalking toward Rhysand's desk. "Did you just see that? We're _stuck_ in that mirror now! I want her gone."

"It's not a mirror," you said, sticking out a hand. Cassian returned your phone but stayed by your side, watching you play with it. "I just . . . I must come from a very different time than you guys. _Very_ different."

Amren's gray eyes homed in on the harp. "Did you summon her on purpose?"

Rhysand pushed back as he stood. "Amren, calm down. Please. We— The harp played itself. It brought this female and her . . . _backpack_ here. We don't know why, but she's— (Y/n) is also Azriel's mate."

Amren's head jerked back as she processed Rhysand's words. And then she turned to Azriel, who was still lingering by the doorway. You turned as well, but the foreboding look in his hazel eyes caught you off guard.

"Then why's he like that?" Amren asked, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.

Rhysand cleared his throat.

Feyre tried to reply, "Well, that's, um . . ." She glanced around the room before her gaze lingered on you.

"I mean—" Amren threw up a hand "—after Elain, shouldn't he be, you know, happy? Relieved? He can finally move on now. And let's be thankful that he won't go through another five centuries of pining."

Your phone slipped through your fingers, but Cassian caught it before it hit the floor.

"Centuries?" you asked, eyes wide. "Are you all — immortal?"

You waited for someone to say something, anything, because the silence was ten times worse.

And then you burst out laughing. "Right, no. Of course. The universe blesses me with a mate, but— This has to be fake. I must be dead or something. Or maybe I really am just dreaming."

Amren narrowed her eyes. "I can assure you you're not dreaming, girl. I'm not from this world either." She sniffed, nose scrunching. "And why're you _bleeding?_ Just what happened while I was gone, Rhysand? For all of twelve hours?"

The purple-eyed fae was about to say something, but Feyre slid off the desk.

"I'll get her cleaned up," she said, approaching you. "Come, (Y/n), I'll show you to a guest room. We can continue this conversation later. You must be exhausted."

You weren't, not really, but you couldn't stand being in the same room as Azriel anymore. His confused emotions and grief were crashing over you in powerful, relentless waves. So you just nodded, gathering your things.

Cassian tried to give your phone back, but you told him to hold onto it.

You swung your backpack on as Feyre led you out of the room, passing Azriel.

He didn't so much as glance at you.

Once you were far enough away, you asked quietly, "How do I turn it off?"

Feyre blinked, confused.

"Because we're mates, there's this . . . _connection_ between us," you said, wringing your hands. "At least, I think there is. Why else would I hurt so much? This grief isn't mine. This sadness isn't mine. And I don't _want_ to feel like this."

Something flared in Feyre's blue-gray eyes, but she just clucked her tongue. Placing a hand on your shoulder, she led you upstairs.

"I'll handle it," she said, looking away. "Don't worry, (Y/n)."

But you caught the bone-deep disappointment in her eyes.

It left you reeling.

Because just who the hell was Elain?

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Your cut wasn't all that bad, so it only took Feyre a few seconds to wrap it. You flexed your left palm as she stood, gathering supplies from your vanity.

"So," you said, "about Azriel . . ."

Feyre raised a brow, gesturing for you to continue.

"Am I . . ?" The back of your neck prickled with anxiety. "I'm not sure how it works here, but am I, you know, expected to — to do things?"

Without hesitation, Feyre said, _"No,_ of course not. Never. At least, not here. Not in our Court."

You fiddled with the hem of your dress as you said, "I don't know how long I'll be here, but . . . I know getting over someone is hard. So if you could tell Azriel that I don't care, that I don't hold it against him, that'd be great." You paused, pursing your lips. "I just— I think I need some time to adjust. And I — don't want him to feel like . . . I'm forcing him."

Feyre's gaze softened. "That's very kind of you, (Y/n). I'll let him know that." As she walked toward the door, she added, "And take a nap! I'll have someone wake you up in a few hours for dinner."

You nodded, waiting until the door clicked shut.

After a few minutes of silence, you put your head in your hands.

All you wanted was for something to make sense, but it didn't seem like anything ever would.

The fact that you had a mate was almost laughable. And then the fact that "your mate" was still hung up on someone made everything ten times worse.

You may've only met the guy, but Azriel was beautiful and probably kind. A little emotionally stunted, sure, but it wasn't anything you couldn't work with. And even though you didn't know how mates worked or why the universe had picked you specifically, you found yourself willing to . . .

To what?

Be Azriel's mate?

Mates didn't exist where you were from. It was all fiction — an ideal.

You groaned softly, rubbing your temples.

As you stood and walked over to the balcony, you wondered if Feyre would tell Azriel to knock it off with whatever he was going through. His sadness still rippled through you, bouncing off every crevice of your mind.

As you observed the garden, a thought came to you.

Surely distance would help, right?

As you warred with yourself over what to do next, the throbbing in your head increased. And then — the desire for a reprieve from this bullshit won over in the end.

You surveyed the backyard, making sure no one was around.

And then oh-so-carefully, you used your power, constructing light out of thin air. You jumped up, small glowing plates of white appearing under your feet.

As you walked over the roof of the mansion, you were met with a sprawling, busy city.

There, you figured you'd find solace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: March 12 @ 9 PM (EST)
> 
> Comments or kudos are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> [I'm on Tumblr](https://amchapel.tumblr.com/)!


	3. A Mortal in Velaris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After you almost get into a fight with a fae from the Court of Nightmares, Cassian retrieves you. You decide to share your powers with the group and then make a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the chaotic posting! I'm trying to get it so I can post on Sundays, when I'm less busy. Anyway, hope you enjoy! If you're interested, I talk about my plans for this story in the end notes.

Panels of light blinked into existence as you walked through the air, taking your time.

Every now and then, you'd look back to make sure you hadn't been followed — and to watch your little stepping stones fade away.

To get a better view of the city, you'd walked high above the trees. The houses and stores looked like they were all built out of marble, but it didn't surprise you.

The city was, after all, right next to a mountain.

You hummed to yourself as you slowly descended, thinking to yourself. When your feet touched the stone path, you realized you should've asked for shoes, but it was too late to turn back now. And even though you were a decent amount of distance from the mansion, your head still swam with whatever Azriel was going through.

Frowning, you marched forward, entering the outskirts of the city.

Children with and without wings were running around, screeching with laughter. It made you smile; even if this place wasn't real, it was, at the very least, full of _good._

The city got louder as you entered some of the markets. Even though you got a few weird stares, you figured it was because of your lack of shoes. And, well — your layered outfit consisting of a nightgown and a sheer babydoll dress.

You pursed your lips as you walked past all sorts of stores, peering into some but never fully entering. But when you came across an array of carts and stalls, all bright and teeming with otherworldliness, you couldn't help but weave through them.

One cart was full of dangling ornaments, all spinning and catching the light.

You grinned as you touched a gold one and its imperfect ridges.

"Pretty, aren't they?"

You didn't realize someone was speaking to you until they cleared their throat.

Blinking, you turned to your right. A male fae stood there, clasping his hands behind his back. He was devastatingly handsome in a cool, sharp way. You noticed right away that he dressed differently, that he probably wasn't from around here.

As you sized each other up, you figured he thought the same thing about you.

"Yes," you said slowly.

You were about to walk away when he asked, "You're not from here, are you? You don't smell like fey, but you're not entirely mortal either."

You raised a brow as you turned to face him. "I'm just mortal, sir." You figured he'd somehow smelled your powers — or sensed them. "You must be confusing my scent with something else."

"Yes, but you see," the male said, "that's just not possible. Mortals don't _roam_ Prythian, let alone Velaris."

_Is that why everyone's staring at me? Whoops._

_Play it cool._

You crossed your arms. "So?"

The male's eyes widened marginally. He looked you over, something smug dancing in his eyes. "Well . . . How _interesting._ The last mortal who spoke to me like you are wound up dead."

You weren't sure if it was the male's unexpected threat or that your future was in the hands of a magical harp, but you burst out laughing.

His black eyes narrowed.

You were about to say something smart after catching your breath, but the male chose that moment to lunge. It would've only taken a millisecond to conjure light, but a merchant grabbed the male.

"Go back to your nightmares," the merchant spat. "Tell Keir that he'll be hearing about this incident from our High Lord."

The male wrenched away and then straightened his clothes. "But she's a mortal. A _female_ mortal."

"So?" the merchant echoed your question from earlier. "Go away."

Glancing around, you realized other merchants were watching, ready to intervene if necessary. The male fae seethed as he walked away, hands in his pockets.

When the merchant turned to you, he sighed, wings rustling. "That was close. You have a mouth on you, girl."

You thanked him but added, "I'm not a girl."

The merchant raised a brow at you, chuckling. "Okay, sure." As he pulled up a stool, he scanned you. "Name's Kai. And . . . as much as I hate those nightmare bastards, he's got a point. What's a mortal like you doing here in Velaris anyway?"

You blanched and grimaced, wondering how to answer such a question. You were about to lie when people gasped, looking up at the sky.

A shiver ran down your spine as you heard someone land behind you. The gentlest of breezes brushed against your arms and legs, making you turn around.

Cassian rose, grinning and shaking his head. He'd swapped his armor out for a more casual outfit.

"There you are, _(Y/n),"_ he said, giving you a pointed look. "We've been looking everywhere for you."

You bit back a laugh. "Really?"

Cassian gave you an unimpressed look, sticking out a hand. "Come on. Let's get you back." He turned to Kai and nodded his head. "I'm sorry if she gave you any trouble."

"You think so low of me," you said, clucking your tongue.

Kai waved a hand but stood. "I _was_ going to tell Rhysand, but I guess I can tell you now." The merchant paused, glancing back, probably looking for that fae. "Someone from the Court of Nightmares tried to attack her. But in all fairness, she egged him on."

You gasped, whirling around. "I did not! He was a vile, egotistical piece of shit. If you hadn't gotten in my way—"

"Thank you for letting me know," Cassian said. "I'll let Rhysand know."

You turned to him, upset, but he was walking toward you.

When he got too close, you tried to back up, face burning.

"Wait, Cassian—" You jumped away from his hands. "What're you—?!"

It all happened so fast — Cassian flapped his wings once.

You yelped as he slammed into you, and then seconds later, your feet weren't on the ground anymore. Your stomach dropped as Cassian pulled you further and further away from the earth.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you yelled over the wind, "PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!"

He was hugging you from behind, arms secure around your waist, but your legs dangled over the city. You desperately clutched at your dress, making sure no one could see anything.

"I MEAN IT!" You tried to elbow Cassian while holding your dress down. "NOW!"

His forearms dug into the undersides of your breasts.

You thought you tasted bile in the back of your throat.

"Relax!" Cassian shouted over the wind. "We're almost back!"

He was right; the mansion was already visible. So even though you didn't like being touched without your permission, let alone being lifted into the sky, you forced yourself to stop struggling. And then, a minute or two later, once Cassian landed, you thrashed out of his hold.

Your hands shook as you approached the front door, which Feyre opened.

She looked optimistic for all of two seconds before she took in your expression.

"Oh dear," she said, looking between you and Cassian. "What happened?"

You ignored her as you stalked through the foyer. You almost passed a sitting room before realizing Rhysand was in it, so you backtracked. As you approached him, he looked up from a book, expression indiscernible.

"Don't ever send your guard dog after me again," you said, clenching your fists. "Got it?"

Nesta appeared from a side room, but you focused on Rhysand, on his increasingly powerful aura. It made your knees buckle, but you kept standing.

"He was retrieving you for your own safety," Rhysand said, tone clipped. "Speaking of which, how did you even leave without us noticing?"

You felt your knuckles turn white.

Nesta sighed, leaning against the wall. "Cassian, what did you do?"

"I just grabbed her," he said from somewhere behind you. "There were too many eyes on us. And now Keir knows about her. Well, he will. Someone from the Court of Nightmares tried to attack her."

You thought you heard Rhysand's composure snap, but you did your best to ignore him.

Turning to Cassian, you clutched at your clothes, about to say something, but then . . . you followed his gaze. He was staring at your hands, where you hugged yourself. His forearms had just been there minutes ago, holding you.

You swallowed thickly, closing your eyes.

You'd always had a problem with people touching you, especially when it came to your body, to any part of it that you hated.

You felt Rhysand's aura dim, so you opened your eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry," Cassian said, holding up his hands. "I really didn't mean to upset you, but time was of the essence. I promise I won't do it again without your permission."

Something relaxed in your chest, so you nodded, dropping your hands. And then you turned back to Rhysand, feeling a little lightheaded. It took so much out of you to be upset, to be disgusted, that you did your best to let it go.

"To answer your earlier question," you said, gripping the back of a settee, "I lied about only having one power, and so . . . I'm sorry about that. I didn't want to show my whole hand without getting to know you first."

Feyre walked up to you, leaning against the settee. "And I don't blame you. You were, after all, dropped into a stranger's backyard. In another world."

You smiled briefly, glancing at Rhysand. He still sat on the settee, legs crossed.

"Anyway," you said, backing up from Feyre, "I'll demonstrate my power."

Once you had some space by the sunny window, you pressed your palms together and then shifted your weight. As you spread your hands, everyone gasped, watching as you created a glowing rod of light.

You raised all three feet of it like a sword, glancing around the room.

"What _is_ that?" Cassian asked, walking over to Rhysand. "Light?"

You nodded, playing with the beam you'd constructed. "My power lets me create things from light, like . . . panels. That's how I left earlier. I walked right over the roof."

"So you can make anything with it," Rhysand said, standing.

"Yeah, pretty much." You let the light roll down the back of your hand, and then you liquified it with a single thought. It curled around your forearm. "In my world, my power's official name is 'photokinetic constructs.' I've only been practicing with it for ten years, but yeah. Oh, and I need light for it to work. Technically, I can just create photons of light, but it takes . . . _a lot_ out of me."

You let the light flicker away and then disappear as you remembered _that night_ a few years ago.

You glanced around the room before adding, "The last time I _created_ light, it was an emergency. It took so much out of me that I almost died . . . But I'm, you know, optimistic about it. I'll get the hang of it someday."

"Well . . ." Feyre trailed off, voice small. "Your power's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's because there _isn't_ anything like it," Rhysand said, holding his chin. He looked you over as he thought, face pinching together. "There must be a reason she was brought here, besides being Azriel's mate. This sort of thing is . . . unusual, to say the least."

Cassian snorted. "You sound just like Amren. So prophetic."

You lowered your gaze as you mulled something over.

Feyre gently cleared her throat. "(Y/n)?"

"Listen, I . . ." You trailed off, meeting everyone's curious stares. "You say I'm Azriel's mate, but Rhysand's right. I could've been brought here for a million other reasons. So if something happens while I'm stuck here, then I'll help, I swear it. But my priority . . . My priorities lie with finding a way back home."

Rhysand blinked, surprised.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing," he said lightly. "You just sound so . . . calm."

You wiped at your face, snorting. "Yeah, well." You held up your bandaged left hand. "This isn't a dream, so I might as well make the most of it."

Rhysand exchanged a nervous look with Feyre.

"What?" you deadpanned. "Bad news?"

Feyre stepped forward, gesturing to Rhysand's book. "We already started researching, but . . . it may take us a while to use the harp. We only acquired it a year ago, and it's considered a dangerous, powerful weapon. Well, less weapon and more _tool._ What I'm trying to say is that we _must_ understand the harp before using it. That way, it can't hurt anyone."

You nodded gravely. "I understand. Where I'm from, some people can be consumed by their powers. It's rare, but it's possible, so . . . Take all the time you need." You paused before adding wryly, "Well, maybe not too long. Under a decade would be great."

Even Rhysand huffed at your snark.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A couple hours later, you'd bathed and napped and were ready to eat.

And in that time, Feyre had convinced Rhysand to make you a bunch of clothes, including simple but elegant dresses. And even though you were baffled by how well they all fit, you didn't question Rhysand's methods; you weren't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As you came down, you fussed over your cream tea-length dress.

"Oh, wow," Feyre breathed from the foyer. "It looks great on you."

"Thanks—" You looked up, caught off guard by the winged baby in her arms. He wore loose cotton clothes and looked like a miniature version of Rhysand.

Feyre grinned at your surprise. "This is my son, Nyx." The baby twisted in her arms, wings flapping excitedly. "Oh—! It looks like he wants to say hello."

You paused by the end of the stairs, unsure if you should get any closer.

"What's wrong?" Feyre asked, brow furrowing. "I promise he's harmless."

"No, it's not—" You blurted out a laugh. "Your mate comes off a bit territorial. I doubt he'd appreciate a stranger within an arm's distance of his heir."

Cassian laughed behind you as he came down with Nesta. "And you'd be right about that."

Feyre poked fun at Cassian's semi-formal outfit, but you weren't paying them any attention.

Instead, you focused on Rhysand and Azriel as they came down. They whispered with such grave expressions that it startled you. It almost looked like Rhysand was angry at Azriel — or was it disappointment?

Was Azriel being _chastised?_ And if so, for what?

As if hearing your thoughts, Rhysand looked up and locked eyes with you. Azriel did as well, but he quickly averted his gaze, frowning.

Something in your chest ached; you tried to ignore it.

"Okay," Rhysand said, rubbing his hands together. "Who's winnowing with who?"

You sputtered, "I'm sorry, come again?"

Feyre chuckled. "It's how some of us travel from one point to another."

"With magic," Nesta clarified.

"Oh," you said, jerking your head back. "So . . . teleporting? Teleportation?"

Everyone looked at one another, even Azriel, who looked amused but mostly confused.

"I can answer your questions later," you said, hoping you didn't sound too whiny. "I'm just — hungry. Where're we eating? If not here?"

"The House of Wind," Feyre said, extending a hand. She smiled gently. "A home away from home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated (and I love replying to you guys!) <3 <3 <3
> 
> As for my plans for this story, when I said slow burn, I meant it!! I know there's not definitive number of chapters, but I do plan on writing ~at least~ 70k words for this fic. There's gonna be drama, misunderstandings, angst -- all that stuff. And there'll be an actual plot, with a villain and stakes, for those who're wondering. I'm used to writing longer chapters, so I promise we're getting to the plot. I just have to set things up first ;)
> 
> Next update: March 14 @ 9 PM (EST)
> 
> [I'm also on Tumblr if y'all have any questions](https://amchapel.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Golden Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have dinner at the House of Wind and speak with Azriel alone, but it doesn't go the way you thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early update because why not? Happy Friday and enjoy! <3

You squeezed your eyes shut as windy darkness consumed you, Feyre, Nyx, and Nesta. It was disorienting, to say the least, but over within a few seconds. Once you felt marble under your heels, you lifted your head — and looked upon the sprawling, gilded city of Velaris in all its sunset glory.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Feyre asked, adjusting Nyx in her arms. He squirmed excitedly and babbled to himself. "I can't wait for you to see it at night. That's when it really shines."

Nesta turned to enter a simple but elegant dining room with large windows. You followed Feyre inside as she explained things about the house, when and how it was built, etc.

As you sat across from her near the head of the table, you said, "I'm sorry for being so quiet. I'm just a little speechless. This house, _your_ house, is just — enchanting."

"Oh, it's not mine," Feyre said, standing Nyx on her thigh. "It's Nesta and Cassian's."

You blinked in surprise, looking to Feyre's left, where Nesta sat. "Really?"

Nesta smirked, looking almost proud of herself. "Yes. You could say I've become . . . _attached_ to it. And vice versa."

"Huh?"

Feyre grinned, glancing at her sister. "When she stayed here a year ago, her magic rubbed off on the house, gave it more personality."

"A house with personality," you echoed, smiling despite your confusion. "That's — _wow."_

Nyx took advantage of the short silence, squealing and bouncing on Feyre's thigh. His wings rustled as he sucked on one of his fists, and his chubby cheeks dimpled as he stared at you.

Your shoulders relaxed as something warm filled your chest. "Nyx is absolutely adorable. Do they, uh, learn how to fly from a young age?"

Feyre blurted out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, I just— Yes, they learn from a very young age. Even though Nyx isn't there yet, I worry about him all the time. And I keep catching him trying to fly when he definitely shouldn't be!"

When Feyre tickled Nyx, he screamed in delight, wings flapping.

"That's a parent's job," you assured her. "To worry, that is." After a pause, you glanced around the dining room. "Where're the boys?"

"Oh, they decided to fly," Feyre said. "They should be here any—"

A loud hollering from outside made you jump. You twisted in your chair right as Cassian crash-landed on the balcony, clutching at his side as he laughed.

He bellowed as he stood, fixing his clothes. "I WIN!"

Rhysand landed behind him and shoved his head down. "Yeah, yeah. We get it. Don't be a sore winner."

Cassian mocked him as he swaggered into the dining room, triumphant. He said something to Nesta, but you didn't catch it. You were focused on Azriel as he touched down, brow creased. He'd decided on a semi-formal outfit like Cassian, so he was wearing black pants and a navy blouse with silver embroidery.

You had to remind yourself that this male, this winged fae who moved with inhuman grace, was your mate.

You stared as he entered the dining room, but you weren't ogling. More than anything, you were curious — because you just couldn't wrap your head around the concept of a mate.

Or, rather, mates plural.

Something ached in your chest as you questioned if the title even applied to you. But you told yourself that you weren't even from this world, let alone this universe. You figured it'd be naive to think that anything _here_ applied to _you._

As Azriel fiddled with his cinched cuffs, he lifted his gaze and locked eyes with you.

 _You're mates,_ a soft voice in your mind whispered. _Azriel is yours as much as you're his._

You cleared your throat as you twisted back around, staring at the table.

Because where the hell had _that_ even come from?

You barely knew the male!

"Everything alright?" Feyre asked. "(Y/n)?"

You nodded a little too earnestly, but mercifully, Feyre didn't comment on it. "Yes. Yes, of course. I'm just hungry."

Cassian sat next to Nesta and moved his chair until their thighs were touching. Rhysand sat at the head and reached for Nyx with a surprisingly soft smile.

And Azriel?

You straightened as Azriel pulled out the chair to your right and then sat in it.

"Let's eat," Rhysand said, seating Nyx on his lap.

You blinked and missed it; dishes of the most delicious-looking food you'd ever laid eyes on had appeared out of thin air. You smelled it a second later and couldn't help the grin that split your face in two.

"So, (Y/n)," Rhysand said as he put food on his plate, "earlier, you mentioned something about . . . _teleporting?"_

"Oh, yes." You surveyed the dishes before putting food on your own plate. "Where I'm from, being able to teleport is a rare and valued ability."

"And people are just born with powers?"

"It's kind of random," you admitted with a wry smile. "I was born with a gene that later activated my powers."

Feyre cocked her head to the side. "A what?"

"Uh, let's see . . ." You draped your napkin over your lap. "A gene is— Think of it as, um, the things that make you, _you._ So when you reproduce, a part of you, your genes, gets passed down. That's why children look like their parents."

Everyone at the table went silent.

The back of your neck burned. "What?"

"Oh, nothing, it's just—" Feyre searched for the right words. "How do you know this? Is this common knowledge where you're from?"

"Yes," you said as you started to cut your food. "Now that I'm thinking about it, our worlds must be similar on a molecular level. If your atmosphere had been too different from mine, then I could've died the second I was brought here."

"I'm sorry?" Nesta asked, voice pitching higher than usual. Cassian chuckled at her but looked just as confused.

"We breathe an element called oxygen," you explained, glancing back at the balcony. "Without it, we'd suffocate and die. That's why—" You paused, glancing around the table. "You all look a bit pale. Should I continue?"

Rhysand cleared his throat. "Are these all facts?"

You blinked at him. "Yes, why?"

_"How?"_

You laughed through your nose. "Humans have always been . . . curious beings. So they looked at our world and made sense of it." You paused, reaching for a decanter of wine. "Sometimes, I think we're only curious about other planets because we exhausted the curiosity for our own."

Cassian choked on his wine. "Say what now?"

You chuckled. "We're still kind of new to space exploration, but we've sent humans to the moon. People study planets from our own. That sort of stuff."

You refrained from mentioning the rover on Mars. That was a whole other can of worms.

Feyre smiled but shook her head in disbelief. "That's insane."

You shrugged. "Well, it's the truth."

You poured yourself some wine and then took a few gulps, hoping it'd calm your nerves. You were acutely aware of Azriel, just a few feet away.

"Let's change the subject," Rhysand said. Everyone laughed at him, even Azriel. "Can you use your powers at night? When there's no sunlight?"

You choked on your wine, coughing into your glass.

As you cleaned yourself up, you apologized and then said, "Um, to answer your question, yes. Technically speaking, moonlight _is_ sunlight; it's just a reflection. But the times I've used moonlight are few and far between."

"And why is that?"

Your good mood started to falter. "For some reason, moonlight is more . . . powerful, ergo more difficult to control. And something about it always feels wrong to me." You finished your wine, letting it warm your belly. "It's chaotic. Consuming. Volatile. In short, I don't like it."

"I see," Rhysand murmured. Something in his voice told you he could relate. "Well, with any luck, you won't have to use either while you're here."

Because Rhysand wasn't paying attention, Nyx bounced forward to slap at his plate. He was probably just trying to grab food, but mashed potatoes flew everywhere.

Your mouth fell open as they splattered over your left forearm and cheek.

 _"Oh!_ Nyx!" Feyre exclaimed, rushing to put her glass down. "That is _not_ very nice!"

You used a finger to wipe at your face, silent for a moment before chuckling to yourself.

And then Cassian laughed, but he was pointing at Azriel. So you turned and saw that the mashed potatoes had landed on his brow. His face was pinched together in a comical grimace.

"I'm _so_ sorry," Feyre said, wiping at Nyx's hands. "Nyx, apologize to (Y/n) and Uncle Azriel."

Nyx laughed, still bouncing on Rhysand's leg. "Sorry!"

 _"Ohhh."_ Feyre clucked her tongue. "You think you're so funny, don't you?"

"I love it," Cassian said, leaning back in his chair. "He's a mini menace. Good job, Nyx!"

Nesta whacked his shoulder. "Cassian!"

The conversation continued as you wiped your arm and then glanced at Azriel. He'd cleaned the majority of his face, but there was still a gritty white film on his brow.

"I'm going to clean up," he said, pushing back.

"Oh, great," Rhysand said. "Take (Y/n) with you."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Azriel stiffen, but he nodded. He stood without another word, so you hurried to follow after him. The hallways in the House of Wind were lined with portraits and weapons, so you found yourself looking back and forth, taking everything in. And the architecture was mesmerically imperfect; red stone from the mountain peeked through every now and then.

"This way," Azriel said as he passed a large sitting room.

He showed you into a dark marble bathroom that had a nice view of the city. And because the sun was close to setting, a weak but warm light cast through the large window.

"Thank you," you said. Your low heels clacked against the floor as you went for a navy hand towel. And because you weren't raised in a barn, you tried to start a conversation. "Even your bathrooms are whimsical. This place is like a real-life fairy tale."

Azriel hummed, throwing a polite glance in your direction. He grabbed a different towel and then ran it under the tap. "I imagine we'd be just as shocked in your world."

You wet your towel as well. "That's for sure." You tried to picture Azriel and his winged friends in a car and smirked to yourself.

You straightened to clean your face in the mirror. Azriel did the same, but he glanced at you every now and then, brows knit together.

"Rhysand filled me in about your power," he hesitated, wings shifting. "I'm sorry I wasn't there earlier. I was . . . busy."

"Oh . . . Yeah." You glanced at his reflection. When your eyes locked, you asked tentatively, "Do you . . . want to see it in action?"

Innate curiosity flickered through Azriel's eyes; even his shadows came out. "Yes."

Your neck burned at the word, how simple and sure it sounded.

"Alright," you said, hoping you didn't sound nervous. "Here."

You hung your damp towel and then backed up a few feet, glancing over your shoulder. You plucked light from the final rays of sunshine, willed it into a sphere, and then showed it off to Azriel.

Even though the rays had been golden and saturated, the light in your palm turned white until it glowed. You were about to laugh at the dramatic shadows it cast but watched as the smoky tendrils behind Azriel's neck unfurled. They slipped in and out of the unexpected but welcomed patches of darkness.

The barest hint of surprise made him part his lips. He observed his shadows as they danced. "And you can turn it into anything?"

You hummed, dropping your hand. Azriel made a small sound of surprise as the sphere stayed in place, in the air. You smiled to yourself as you raised your hand again, lengthening the light into a twisting, fluid beam. You leisurely dragged it through the air, zig-zagging it.

"So . . . yeah," you said, dispersing the light. "That's what I can do."

Azriel opened his mouth to say something but shut it a second later. And then, as he searched your face, his hazel irises splintered into irretrievable shards of uncertainty.

It was like looking at you was _painful._

You sucked in a shallow breath. "We should get back to dinner."

Azriel moved to the side and tucked his wings in.

You didn't think he'd join you, but right as you stepped out, you felt a scarred hand on your elbow. It made you pause in the hallway, and when you turned around and raised a brow, you steeled yourself for whatever he had to say.

"Feyre told me what you said." He dropped his hand. "It was very — kind of you, but you shouldn't worry. You're not forcing anything."

You waited, feeling like he had more to say.

"And . . ." Azriel trailed off, narrowing his eyes. "She said that you know it's hard to get over someone, so you don't hold it against me."

Again, you waited.

His wings rustled in the silence. "What makes you think I'm getting over someone?"

You wanted to burst out laughing because, well, what _hadn't_ made you think that? But you realized Azriel was being serious, so you pulled yourself together.

"I felt your grief back at the mansion," you explained. "I figured it's because we're . . . mates, but, um— I don't even know if that applies to me because I'm not from here, but . . . I felt you." You smiled wryly. "I just didn't want you to feel guilty for things you can't control."

Azriel furrowed his brow as agitation swept through his features.

He opened his mouth to say something, but because you had a bad feeling about his response, you added, "We barely know each other, but I was brought here for a reason. So let's just — be friends while I'm here, alright?"

Azriel nodded, but it wasn't with enthusiasm.

And for some reason, that hurt.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Because you started to overthink your purpose in this world, and with Azriel, you downed three more glasses of wine. By the time dessert had come to an end, you'd earned some concerned stares but chose to ignore them.

Feyre said something about leaving, so everyone got up. You did as well, but as soon as you stood, the room started to spin, so you leaned against the table for support.

"Are you alright?" Feyre asked, snapping you out of your daze. "You drank an awful lot."

"Yes," you said, making an effort not to slur your words. "I, um— I've been much, _much_ drunker before. It's part of the college experience. But don't worry, I usually only get drunk once a week, on the weekends."

"Right," Feyre said, walking around the table. She looped her arm through yours. "Let's go back to the river house, okay?"

_The river house?_

_Ah, the mansion._

"Sure," you said, nodding. "Yeah."

Feyre glanced back at Rhysand and Nyx before winnowing you away. That same darkness and wind whipped at your dress until you were standing in the foyer again.

You fisted your skirts in one hand as Feyre helped you upstairs.

You really tried to focus on something, you did, but it was impossible. It was becoming exceedingly frustrating, so you closed your eyes — but all you saw was Azriel's look of uncertainty.

"I want to go home," you whispered, forcing your eyes open.

Feyre had gotten you to the second floor.

"I know," she said gently, patting your arm.

"No," you said a bit more firmly. "I want to go home now."

Feyre said something else, but you didn't hear her. She got you into bed and then closed the door on her way out, talking to someone.

You didn't even think she got to the end of the hall before you blurted out a sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :) A quick comment or kudo is always greatly appreciated! <3
> 
> I've just been writing so much for this story because I finally found my groove again. I promise there's a plot -- I just need to establish some things first. And Y'ALL the plot I have planned out for this is ~sickening~!! I'm so excited to write more. And I PROMISE Azriel isn't an asshole, my man's just going through a rough patch lmao
> 
> ALSO! The chapters are getting a bit longer each time. This one's about 2.7k, so lemme know what you think about the chapter length. I'm thinking about upping it to around 3k so the chapters are a bit more substantial each week, y'know?
> 
> Next update: March 14 @ 9 PM (EST) (I'm keeping the update day the same because I have another chapter planned for Sunday, just need to edit it first.)
> 
> ~[my tumblr](https://amchapel.tumblr.com/)~


	5. To Know No Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hangover doesn't stop you from enjoying yourself. Later, you meet Mor, who returned from Vallahan with bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the tags and rating (which changed). Enjoy!! <3

When you woke up the next day, it was to the sound of chirping birds and buzzing insects — and to a splitting headache.

You groaned softly before rolling on your back, blinking down at your body, a little confused. You frowned, wondering why you hadn't just stripped before getting into bed — but then it all came rushing back to you.

You closed your eyes as your stomach twisted itself in knots. "Fuck."

You'd planned on getting deliciously, mind-numbingly drunk last night, but you sure as hell hadn't expected the tears.

 _Drunk tears,_ you thought, groaning internally.

Pushing up, you narrowed your eyes at the glass doors that led to your balcony. Neither Feyre nor you had closed the curtains last night, so the afternoon sun was blinding you; it was probably the only time you'd hate sunlight.

"Fuck's sake," you muttered as you stretched.

You mewled as a few joints popped and then, rolling out of bed, decided to get ready. The mansion — the house, whatever — was quiet, so you didn't waste time trying to find someone to help you. The bathtub was pretty intuitive, so you turned it on and then sat on the edge, simply waiting.

As your head throbbed, you stared at your reflection that just barely cleared the counter.

Your mind wandered to last night when Azriel had nodded, expression tight and uncertain, lips pursed, and shoulders tense. He'd been the definition of reluctance, and it'd bothered you more than you cared to admit — it _still_ did. You didn't know Azriel, but his disinterest was a little more than insulting . . . and a whole lot of embarrassing.

Grumbling to yourself, you stripped and then slid into the bath, turning it off. The water was hot but not too hot, not when the weather was this nice.

You lathered yourself up with some soap, scrubbing, and then paused when you got to your stomach. Your throat bobbed as your fingers trailed lower and lower, just above the apex of your thighs.

Even though your hangover felt like utter death, and your purpose in this world was still unknown, you figured you could allow yourself this small pleasure. And quite literally, too.

You smirked at your own double entendre and then hissed as your fingers slid between your folds. Your eyes fluttered shut as you started out slow; rubbed and stroked your clit with the pads of your fingers.

The water sloshed as you switched positions, sitting on your heels. Leaning against the left side of the bath, you squeezed your eyes shut as warmth rushed to your gut, and then the kiss of pain behind your temples became a lick of white-hot flame, shooting down your spine. You stuttered out a breathy curse, switched angles — nearly cried out in distress when your legs tried to clamp around your fingers.

"Fuck," you breathed into the back of your left hand. You knew your orgasm would be weak, all rushed and nervous with too much on your mind, but you couldn't stop, not now. "Come on . . !"

For a second, so quick you almost missed it, it felt like someone was watching you. But instead of stopping or feeling mortified, an unbearable, new pleasure razed through your ribcage, whirling in your breasts. You were cresting, oh-so-close, but you checked — no one was there, just you and the bath and the now lukewarm water. Your eyes fluttered shut again, and you groaned, the sound guttural, not at all like you were used to.

Your heady mind flipped through scenarios, desperate for that one final push over the edge, so you glanced down, imagining a head between your thighs—

You sucked in a shallow breath as your body locked up.

It was such a concentrated effort to keep your hand moving between your thighs that you didn't even realize you'd cried out, the sound bouncing off the tiles.

"Yes . . !" It was a choked-off sob as you finally came, inner walls clenching around absolutely nothing.

As you came back down, you pressed your cheek into the mercifully cold porcelain and panted as if you'd just been run ragged.

When you could finally form a coherent thought, you mumbled, "Well, that definitely wasn't weak."

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Before venturing downstairs, you slipped into a rust-colored silk dress and navy mules. As you padded into one of the main sitting rooms, you fiddled with your cuffed sleeves, wondering where everyone was.

You were about to call out when you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. When you turned, you saw everyone in the study you'd been in yesterday, just a few feet away. They were hunched over the desk, oddly quiet.

You thought they were speaking, but— No?

You shook your head as you walked over, wondering why they hadn't heard you yet. You held your dress up with both hands as you stepped over the threshold.

Or, at the very least, tried to.

Your knee slammed into an invisible force, and then, before you could pull back, your nose did as well. Pain flared through your sinuses as you fell back on your ass, swearing.

"Ow, ow, _ow,"_ you whined, feeling rather pathetic.

"(Y/n)!" Feyre appeared in the doorway and then rushed to your side. "We should've thought about the shield if you came looking for us. I'm so sorry."

"The what?" You locked eyes with Feyre first and then Azriel, who stepped into the doorway. When you shifted and sat up, lowering your hand, their faces dropped.

"You're bleeding," Feyre said, grimacing. "Are you okay? Do you think it's broken?"

"Yes, and no," you answered, wiping the blood away from your mouth. "Do you have tissues?" You glanced at Azriel, making little effort to mask your annoyance. "I can just go back to my room. I didn't mean to interrupt your meeting."

Azriel's brow twitched before he retreated into the study.

"We have tissues in there." Feyre grabbed your arm, helping you up. "Besides, depending on how long you're here, this meeting may pertain to you."

"I'm sorry about the shield," Rhysand said from his desk. "We can get a healer to look at your nose later."

You nodded and let Feyre lead you to the settees, where she sat you down and gave you a few tissues. As you pressed a few to your nose, you glanced around the room, recognizing everyone, including Amren, except for one female — a blonde. She smiled wide when you locked eyes.

"I'm Mor," she said, sitting on the left side of the desk. "I'm also one of Azriel's old friends, so you can imagine my shock when I returned and found out about . . . you. _This."_

You couldn't place her tone, so you decided to just say, "It's nice to meet you." Gesturing to your bloody tissues, you added, "I'm sorry this is our first interaction."

"Oh, it's fine," Mor said, waving a manicured hand. "It could've been way worse. Believe me." She turned to Azriel, who was now lurking by the doorway. "Do we still need the shields up? Or have your shadows calmed down?"

You blinked, looking to Feyre and Rhysand. "Are we being . . . spied on?"

Rhysand barked out a laugh and then cleared his throat. "Sorry. No, we're not being spied on. Azriel wanted the shields up a few minutes ago because his shadows were getting antsy. None of us sensed anything, but better safe than sorry."

"Yeah, he was getting super agitated," Cassian said from the settee across from you. Nesta stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder. "Well, his shadows were. Same thing."

Mor said something that made everyone laugh, but you weren't paying attention. It felt like something should've clicked; like you should've gotten _some_ thing by now . . .

You lifted your head ever so slightly to look at Azriel — and realized that his eyes were already on you, piercing and unwavering.

The shields . . . A few minutes ago . . .

And just where had you been a few minutes ago?

Your heart nearly stopped. There was no way he'd— _No._

No, no, no.

Had he heard you? Had anyone _else_ heard you? Did the mating bond work for you as well? Did it go both ways even though you weren't even from this world? Even though you weren't a fae? Not even in the slightest?

Had he, through the bond, _felt_ you _masturbating_ in the bathroom upstairs?

"(Y/n)?"

You jumped, twisting to look at Rhysand. And then you realized everyone else was staring at you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, squinting at Azriel. "Is something wrong?"

"No," you said quickly, voice pitching higher than usual. You mentally cursed yourself as your neck burned with shame. "No. No, I'm fine. I'm just— Ouch. My— Hurts still— My nose."

Rhysand blinked furiously as he tried to keep up with your stuttering.

"I . . . see," he said, glancing at Feyre. He definitely didn't believe you but didn't push it. "Anyway, before you arrived, we were discussing Mor's latest trip to Vallahan, a fae territory across the ocean. We've been trying to get them to sign a peace treaty, but they're convinced war is imminent and are also, unfortunately, land-hungry. But this time, Mor said something was off. The king and queen weren't as . . . restless as before. And you said they smelled different?"

Mor nodded, scrunching her nose. "It's hard to describe to an outsider, but us fey smell like fey, like immortals. But Savaric and Juetta . . . They smelled like immortals, but . . . I don't know."

"I hate to ask this," Amren said, sitting on the other side of the desk, "but what if they're working with Koschei? His scent may've rubbed off on them."

Even though you were still mortified about the Azriel thing, you straightened. "Wait, did you say Koschei?" You looked to Amren, spelling out the name just to be sure.

The female blinked, glancing at Rhysand. "Yes. Koschei." She cocked her head to the side. "Who told you about him?"

"No one. Koschei is a myth— Where's my backpack? Anyone?"

Amren lifted your backpack from behind the desk; she still held it as if it were trash.

"Thank you," you said in a rush, grabbing it. You sat again and discarded your blood-soaked tissues, not even caring that your nose was still dripping. "I'm taking a Slavic folklore class this semester," you said, pulling out a textbook for the class. "In my world, we study ancient literature, but because there's so much, we divvy it up into cultures."

Amren's tone grew icy as she asked, "So how do you know him?"

Feyre shot her a look.

"I don't, not personally," you replied, flipping through your sticky notes. "Basically, from what I remember reading so far, Koschei was known as the antagonist, and . . . even though he's mentioned in a lot of tales, their origin is unknown."

"What're the odds?" Mor asked softly.

Before anyone could reply, you said, "Aha . . ! Here's the passage I was looking for. Should I read it?" You looked up, glancing around.

Rhysand gestured for you to continue, expression grave.

So you cleared your throat and read, _"The most common feature of tales involving Koschei is a spell which prevents him from being killed. He hides his soul inside nested objects to protect it. For example, the soul may be hidden in the needle that is hidden inside the egg which is carried by the duck that flies away whenever anyone tries to catch it. Usually, he takes the role of a malevolent rival father figure, who competes for (or entraps) a male hero's love interest."_

When you were done reading, Feyre gave you some more tissues for your nose. You took them with a small thank you, waiting for someone to say something, anything, in the oppressive silence.

Cassian was the first to speak up. "So Koschei _isn't_ a death-lord?"

"What's a death-lord?" you asked.

Nesta smirked to herself as if she'd remembered something.

"They can't be killed," Rhysand explained, tapping the desk. "They control their own deaths."

"Because their souls are in an object . . . in another world." You turned to face Feyre's mate, locking eyes. "It's no wonder they're called death-lords. The only way to kill them is— You guys never knew any better."

Rhysand dropped his gaze, thinking.

"Well, this is great and all," Amren said, tone dry, "but does this new information really change anything? If what (Y/n) says is true, that Koschei was from her world, then that means to kill him, she'd have to return and retrieve the object that holds his soul."

Mor stood so she could stretch. "Yes, but from what you guys have told me, (Y/n) was brought here for a reason, aside from being Azriel's mate. Why would the harp bring her here just to tell us about Koschei? Surely we're missing something."

"I think Mor's right," you said, still holding the tissues to your nose. "Koschei's—" an idea came to you _"—horcrux_ may be here, in your world."

Feyre made a confused sound to your right. "It has a name? This object?"

"It's— Not really," you said a bit sheepishly. "The term 'horcrux' comes from an entirely different story but — means the same thing. Basically."

Bushes and trees rustled in the backyard as a warm breeze danced through it. When Amren glared at the lush, open space, you remembered Rhysand's words from yesterday: _the wind whispers._

He lifted his gaze, examining your bloody face. He frowned as he said, "I really am sorry about your nose. We were going to help you with the harp after this meeting, but would you like to see the healer first?"

You curled your fingers around your bloodied tissues, determined. "I promised you that I'd stay to help out however I can, so . . . the harp can wait. I have a feeling that Koschei can't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating twice a week now :') Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> ~[my tumblr](https://amchapel.tumblr.com/)~
> 
> Next update: March 17 @ 8 PM (EST)


	6. The Shadowsinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a conversation with your mate, Azriel, and then Rhysand. Later, when you're out in Velaris with Feyre, you run into that egotistical fae from the other day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❗️PLEASE CHECK THE TAGS❗️
> 
> I know I said March 17 for the next update, but I got carried away! Hope you enjoy 💖

As the meeting adjourned, Cassian leaned over the table and placed something by your discarded tissues.

"Oh," you breathed, picking up your phone. "You held onto it this whole time?"

He smiled slowly, confused. "Of course I did. You told me to."

_Cassian tried to give your phone back, but you told him to hold onto it._

You smirked at the memory as you turned your phone over, the screen lighting up. Your eyes went to the battery first: it was at 83%. "You guys wouldn't know how to harness electricity, would you?"

Feyre, Nesta, and Cassian looked at one another.

"I'll take that as a no," you said with a tiny chuckle. "It's just— This has a finite charge. Once it's drained, I won't be able to use it again." You paused, contemplating something. "Not that it matters, though. There's no service, uh— I can't use it here. At least, not how it's _meant_ to be used."

"I tried to figure out the picture thing yesterday but couldn't," Cassian said, ignoring everything else you'd just said. "Can you take a picture of Nesta and me? She looks pretty today. Well, she always does, but her hair's rarely down."

You watched as Cassian craned his neck to look back at Nesta, who still stood behind the settee. She rolled her eyes but smiled, giving him a few affectionate pats.

"Oh, sure," you said, sliding your lock screen to the left. As you raised your phone, a question came to mind. You weren't sure if it was commonplace to inquire about such things, but . . . "Are you guys mates?"

Cassian grinned wide as he said, still looking up at Nesta, "Yes."

You smiled a bit breathlessly; the pride in that one syllable made your heart swell with emotion.

Where you came from, soulmates, let alone mates, were fictional. Couples could claim to be each other's soulmates, which was cute and all, but there was no way to actually prove it. You'd always thought the idea of having a soulmate was ideal, _too_ ideal, and yet — you'd yearned for something as simple as having one. Someone you could count on for the rest of your life, someone who'd love you, faults and all.

Clearing your throat, you said, "Okay. On the count of three." As you counted down, Cassian and Nesta shifted, getting comfortable.

Cassian sat up straighter and smiled, one hand covering his mate's, which rested on his right shoulder. Nesta straightened and smiled as well, but something regal slipped into her expression.

Once you took the picture, you clicked on it and then stood, showing it to them.

"That's still so cool," Cassian said, glancing back at Nesta. She nodded in agreement.

Feyre started to say something, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Azriel leaving.

"Oh — wait! Azriel!" You ran over to him, wiping at your nose.

Azriel paused in the doorway, turning to face you. His face was impassive and posture, stiff, but you thought he looked surprised — just a little.

Even though his outfit was casual, he'd topped it off with leather armor, mostly around his chest and shoulders. You figured he had somewhere to be, but you forced yourself to say, "I was wondering if we could . . . _talk._ Alone. If you're free, of course."

Azriel blinked a few times, glancing at his friends over your shoulder. "Sure," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Follow me . . . We can speak while you get cleaned up."

"Yeah, sure," you said, tapping your phone against your palm. It was a nervous habit. "Let's go."

Azriel tucked his wings in as he led you away from the study. He walked toward the back of the house and then pushed into a — kitchen. The room itself was long and narrow, built to be used by only a few people at once, probably chefs. And everything was very much country; the counters and cupboards were a mix of cream, brown, and blue.

You smiled to yourself when Azriel lowered his wings to avoid hitting the copper kitchenware that hung from the ceiling.

"Here," he said, stopping in front of a large sink. "There are some towels in the cupboard to your right."

"Ah, thank you," you said, grabbing one. You wet it with warm water and then dabbed at your face. There wasn't a mirror, so you'd just have to hope for the best. "I wanted to talk, but I . . . Can we be heard?"

"Not unless we're loud."

You pursed your lips, wiping at your chin. "Is that sarcasm I hear?"

Azriel huffed. "No."

You glowered up at him. "You weren't supposed to hear . . . _that._ Obviously."

"And by _'that,'_ you're referring to . . ?"

You liked that Azriel had a sense of humor — but now wasn't the time.

"This isn't funny," you snapped, neck burning. The heat rose to your cheeks.

Azriel sighed as he gauged your reaction and then looked away. "If it's any consolation, I didn't hear it, per se . . ." He crossed his arms. "I'm sure you've guessed it by now, but mates share a bond that can be . . . impossible to ignore at times."

The confirmation that he had, in a way, heard you made your stomach drop, but . . . "So no one else—?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's not my place to tell you what you can and cannot do while you're here, but you should know that fey have excellent hearing. I'm sure you would've been fine without the shields, but . . . I figured you'd appreciate them."

"Well, then," you said, tilting your chin up for a shred of dignity, "that was very — kind of you. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A minute later, you wrung out your towel and then hung it over the edge of the sink. You were about to leave when Azriel cleared his throat and shifted.

"Feyre told me you cried last night."

You screamed internally — so much for dignity.

"I'd rather not talk about that," you said, tone clipped. "I'd lie and say it has nothing to do with you, but it does, but you're not the reason I . . . You're just . . ."

"I'm just _what?"_

At his tone, you gave him a sharp look. "You know what, Azriel? So far, the only annoying thing about _my_ predicament has been _your_ lack of care, interest, and decency. I'm well aware that I'm a stranger to you despite our bond, but not once have you considered that the same applies to me. Because to me, you're a strange male in a strange world with strange wings, who has a most uncouth disposition."

Azriel scoffed but lowered his gaze.

As you shoved past him, you added, "And it wouldn't kill you to act as if my very existence isn't exhausting, you know. At least, not in public. You can loathe me all you want in private."

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A few minutes later, you changed into a bright pink dress that ended at your shins. You were in the middle of tying a paisley bandana around your head when someone knocked on your door.

"Come in!"

You turned around as Rhysand entered.

"Oh, hello," you said, smoothing out your dress. "I was just about to look for you, actually."

Rhysand raised a brow as he shut your door.

"I was wondering what our next move might be," you said, leaning against the end of your bed. "To be honest, I'm feeling a bit restless. I'm most useful when busy."

The purple-eyed fae gave you a dubious look, but it was teasing. "Just because you're not busy doesn't mean you're not useful."

You waved a hand. "I know, I know, but still . . . Anyway, what's up?"

"I just wanted to thank you for your invaluable information," he said, spreading his hands. "Anything on Koschei is very much appreciated. I've actually sent Mor to speak with another High Lord who has an . . . _extensive_ book collection. I'm hoping she'll find something on Koschei's soul."

"Oh, you're welcome," you said, a bit surprised. "But I didn't really do anything. It was pure luck that I had my Slavic folklore book with me."

Rhysand smirked. "You'll find that very little has to do with luck around here."

You chuckled. "I guess so, huh?" Before there was a lull in the conversation, you added, "So you're a High Lord too?"

Rhysand nodded. "Yes. I'm High Lord of the Night Court. Feyre, my mate, is High Lady."

You smiled at the titles. "So ostentatious. I love it."

It looked like Rhysand was fighting a smile as he sat at your vanity, a few feet away. "I hope you don't mind, but I also wanted to talk about . . . Azriel."

You sat on your bed, legs dangling. "I had a feeling. Is he mad at me? I did just tell him off. Well, I reprimanded him for his recent behavior, and . . . I have a sneaking suspicion that it's not something he's used to."

"You—" Rhysand coughed around a laugh. After he composed himself, he asked, "You reprimanded him for his behavior?"

"Well, it's not—" You sighed, looking out your balcony doors. "It's not like that, not really. Last night, I told him we should do our best to get along. To be friends first, as opposed to mates, because he's clearly going through something. But I think he misinterpreted my sincere offer as . . . pity. Anyway, I told him I wouldn't stand for being treated like the plague while I'm here. Basically."

The fae coughed around another laugh. "Well, then, I guess that saves _me_ the conversation."

Something in your chest loosened at the implication of his words. "I know you said something to him the other day, so . . . thank you for that. But also — you don't have to step in. To be honest, I'd rather just worry about Koschei than mate stuff. You know, fairy tale variables." You grinned. "Does that make me crazy?"

Rhysand stood with a glimmer in his eye, fixing his top. "No, of course not. Feyre's going for a walk with Nyx, but you can join them if you want. She can answer any of your questions."

"Sure," you said, hopping off the bed. "That sounds great."

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A few hours later, you and Feyre sat on a park bench with Nyx fast asleep in her arms.

You'd just finished a lengthy walk through multiple parts of Velaris, but it'd been worth it. You'd gotten to experience so much, and all while learning about Prythian. And because you were a fast learner who absorbed information like a sponge, the stories about Koschei, Courts, and other High Lords had been riveting, to say the least.

You leaned back, watching the red-orange sun disappear over the horizon. "Thanks for putting up with all my questions, Feyre."

"Nonsense," she said, waving a hand. "It was a pleasure."

When you glanced around, you realized people were staring. "It's okay for me to be out like this, right?"

"It is now," Feyre said, nodding earnestly. "Rhysand and I discussed it this morning. He's working to make your presence known but not too public, mostly to deter busybodies."

"Am I in . . . danger?"

"No, of course not," Feyre quickly reassured you. "It's just that some High Lords are skeptical. We just barely won a war two and a half years ago, so we're all tense about Vallahan and drama in the mortal lands."

"I guess I came at a bad time," you joked.

Feyre chuckled to herself as she rubbed Nyx's back. "I was actually thinking about picking up some paint. The store's just a few buildings down."

"Can I wait here?" you asked, smiling wryly. "I promise I won't wander off."

"Of course," she said, standing. As she walked off, she added, "I promise I won't be long!"

You nodded and waved as she blended into the crowd. You leaned back and closed your eyes, listening to strangers' conversations and gossip. And you would've kept doing just that if it hadn't been for someone stopping right in front of you.

They scuffed their shoes on purpose.

You peeked open an eye — and saw that prick of a fae from yesterday. Half of his black hair was pulled back in a bun, and he wore black pants and a blue tunic.

"What a pleasant surprise," he said, peering down at you. "I was actually hoping I'd see you again."

You just barely refrained from scoffing. "And why is that?"

He seemed annoyed by your indifference but plowed on to say, "I wanted to apologize for yesterday. You caught me on an off day." When he paused, you thought he looked genuine enough. "I don't want to give my fellow fey a bad rap in Velaris. It's hard enough being raised in the Court of Nightmares. A lot of us are trying to unlearn certain . . . behaviors."

You narrowed your eyes. And then the fae laughed — _laughed_ — at your suspicion. It was such an airy, natural sound that you found yourself relaxing.

"Alright," you said, offering a brief smile. "I accept your apology. Thank you."

The fae extended a hand. "My name's Rolant. Truce?"

You glanced from his hand to his face, thinking.

Just yesterday, he'd been so quick to be cruel, but that didn't mean he couldn't change, right? After all, you'd had your fair share of bad days before. Surely you could give this fae the benefit of the doubt.

"Sure," you said, reaching out. "Name's (Y/n)."

When you slid your hand into Rolant's, he smiled wide.

You realized too late that the glimmer in his eye was predatory and not at all excitement.

"Wonderful," he said as darkness consumed you both. "Let me show you around the Hewn City."

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

As soon as Rolant stopped winnowing, you wrenched away from him and stumbled on a cobblestone path. You looked around, trying to get your bearings, but all you saw was a glowing, green and purple city with . . . no sky?

"The Hewn City is under a mountain," Rolant explained as if he hadn't just kidnapped you.

_Where there's no light._

"Take me back," you breathed, hackles rising. "Now."

"You know," Rolant said, approaching you, "your naivety suggests that you're _only_ mortal, and yet . . . Something about you still smells different."

You backed up but felt rough hands on your shoulders, holding you in place. Anger sliced through you so profoundly that you saw red, forgot how to breathe. You wrenched away from the fey behind you, about to run, but Rolant was at your side, grabbing your bicep.

He smiled. "It's such a unique scent. Makes me want to crack you open."

"People are expecting me," you said. The male fey surrounding you laughed. "Your High Lord is expecting me."

They laughed even harder.

"Rhysand?" Rolant asked. "You know _Rhysand?_ What a lovely lie. Tell me, (Y/n), who else do you know? His shadowsinger?"

You blinked as confusion interrupted your panic. "Shadow— _Huh?"_

"His shadowsinger, Azriel," Rolant snarled, giving you a once-over. "If you're going to keep lying, girl, at least be convincing about it."

As he started to drag you off, you blurted out, "He's my mate! Azriel's my mate!"

They fey around you laughed again, pushing you forward. You yanked against Rolant's grip as he forced you up a steep hill.

"I'm not kidding!" you cried out, searching for a pocket of sunlight — anything. You weren't even sure how far underground you were. "Azriel— You don't want to see him in a bad mood, Rolant."

"I'm _sooo_ scared."

You grasped for light, trying to create it, but kept coming up empty.

 _Anything, please,_ you pleaded with yourself. _Please!_

A few minutes passed in terrifying silence as Rolant steered you toward a pair of giant black gates. You craned your neck to look up at a — palace?

"Splendid," Rolant said to himself, winnowing as soon as he crossed an invisible line. When he was done, he threw you onto a cold black marble floor. "I was going to show you why you should never disrespect fey, (Y/n), but now I think I'll do you a favor. Your lies have _moved_ me."

You grasped within yourself, desperate — but there was nothing, not even a flicker.

You registered Rolant's words a second later. "What?"

Two fey grabbed you from behind, dragging you toward a wooden chair, and when you saw the leather straps, you screamed.

"Stop, please!" Desperate tears stung the back of your throat. "Please, I'll do anything! I'm sorry! Please!"

You wriggled, trying to free yourself again, but the fey sat you in the chair. Extra sets of hands held you down as they strapped you in, and when Rolant parted the crowd a few seconds later, you started to hyperventilate.

He hushed you, trailing a pale finger down your wet cheek. "I'm doing you a favor, (Y/n), remember?" Before you could even ask what he was talking about, he brandished a small pail from behind his back. "You should be thanking me."

He poured the water over your hands, and then—

When you inhaled, you realized it wasn't water.

_It was oil._

Azriel's scarred hands flashed through your mind.

"No," you croaked out, pulling against the leather straps. "No! Please, please, please! Stop!"

You wailed in raw fear as he moved to your other hand.

"I think matching scars would be perfect," Rolant murmured, almost reverent.

When he finished with the oil, a fae handed him some matches.

You couldn't control your sheer terror, couldn't calm down for a second to reach for that stupid light — that _stupid_ fucking light you should've been able to use from the very beginning. Except you were empty, dreadfully empty, and all the gaps where light should've been had been replaced with alarm and trepidation that consumed you, that rendered you vulnerable.

When Rolant lowered the match to your right hand, the first lick of fire was as bright as the sun, a cruel joke from the universe.

And then the door to your right splintered into a million pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so... 👀
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! 🥰
> 
> ~Next update: March 19 @ 8 PM (EST)~ I think I said my updates would be on specific days, but I get too excited and post early, so my compromise will be to just tell you guys when the next update is. 💕
> 
> ~[my tumblr](https://amchapel.tumblr.com/)~


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